In Between Times
by Aussiegirl41
Summary: Charles decides he can quite easily woo Elsie in between their professional dealings.


**Another Charles/Elsie fic I realised I haven't yet posted here. Who knew I'd written so many? LOL I think, from memory, this was a little gift for Crazymaryt when she was having computer problems! So, I guess it can now be for anyone who is still having problems due to natural disasters. Set in episode 1.4.**

Charles sighed and lowered his pen to rest beside the inkwell. He'd tried to count the column of numbers three times now, and each time he couldn't finish. He was much too distracted by the raucous antics coming from the kitchen.

William was singing, but the words of the song's verses were drowned out by his pounding on the piano keys. Everyone else gathered in the kitchen was joining in with the chorus, however, making it easy to distinguish what the song was.

"Ta-ra-ra boom-de-ay!" they sung out.

Actually, he thought singing was too generous of a word. They were more just yelling out the words.

He stood and headed towards the door just as dancing became involved (if the shuddering and thumping of the floorboards were any indication). Perhaps he should worry about the crockery in the kitchen?

He couldn't begrudge them this moment, not after the troubles of the last few weeks. Maybe he'd just go and give them a time to finish up.

He poked his head out the door and peered down the hallway. He could make out Gwen, Daisy and Anna through the glass doors, swinging around in each other's arms and giggling. O'Brien was even joining in, standing by the far wall, clapping her hands enthusiastically. Mr Bates was leaning against the other side of the doorway, his walking stick tapping in time with the music.

Suddenly his view was obscured by a familiar figure. She was hovering outside the door to the kitchen, involuntarily swaying to the music. She tilted her head and he saw her profile. He couldn't tear his eyes away. She looked so sad.

Her hand reached out for the door handle, but then she paused and snatched it back, tucking it firmly into the folds of her dress and turning in his direction.

"Oh! Mr Carson!"

"Mrs Hughes," he greeted her, bowing politely.

She glanced back over her shoulder.

"I'll just go and tell them—"

"No," he interrupted.

"No?" she asked, unsure.

"Leave them."

He studied her pale and drawn face for a moment.

"You're not going to join them?"

"Heavens, no! I think I'll head up to my room and read a little before turning in. Good night, Mr Carson."

She made to walk past him, but he stepped out to block her way.

She looked up at him expectantly.

It seemed that they hadn't spoken in a long time. She'd been noticeably quiet and distant of late. He could usually be assured of an honest and pleasant conversation with Mrs Hughes every day. She had especially been avoiding him in the evenings. He realised how much he missed her. She was here in the house, yet…

"Are you not well, Mrs Hughes?"

"I'm fine, Mr Carson," she answered quickly.

Suddenly, he made a decision. One he might question later, but one that he felt compelled to make at this exact moment anyway.

"If you have a moment before you go to bed, Mrs Hughes," he said, holding his door open wider as an invitation.

She hesitated for much too long in his opinion, before nodding and stepping past him to enter his room.

"What can I do for you, Mr Carson?"

"I was wondering-"

"Ta-ra-ra boom-de-ay!"

The others were joining in with the chorus again. Their gleeful cries echoing through the lower floor's rooms.

Her brow furrowed and she bit down on her bottom lip. What lengths was he willing to go to elicit a smile from her?

"I was wondering if I could have the pleasure…"

She blinked at his outstretched hand.

"Dance?"

"Yes," he replied. He couldn't remember it ever being this difficult to ask a lady to dance.

"To this?"

"I'm not sure we have any choice in the matter."

His heart began to speed up. He hadn't considered the eventuality that she may refuse him. Did he really take her that much for granted?

"I'm not sure I remember how…"

"I'll lead," he said with much more assurance than he felt.

Before he could change his mind, he took the initiative and grasped her hand in his. It disappeared almost completely in his larger one.

He sighed with relief when she gave her unspoken agreement to this audacity by moving her other hand to rest upon his shoulder.

His free hand settled on the small of her back and he began to slow waltz her around the cramped room, ignoring the upbeat tempo of the piano. He inhaled deeply; she smelt of Pears soap and raspberry jam.

He stared down at the top of her head, wondering what her hair would look like out of its confines.

His gaze wandered to her face. Her eyes were focused squarely on his chest. Carefully, so as not to overstep any boundaries and upset her, he pressed his palm more firmly against her back, drawing their bodies closer together.

"You need to delegate some work to Anna," he murmured.

He cursed himself when she stiffened in his arms.

"Why would I do that?" she snapped.

"So we can go back to our routine. We haven't talked for days."

"And what routine would that be, Mr Carson?" she asked, her Scottish temper stirring. "I stand by your desk, or you sit in my parlour, whilst I complain about the difficulties of my day?"

She tilted her head back to look up at him, defiance flaring in her eyes. Two bright red spots spread across her cheeks.

"Yes," he replied smoothly. "That's exactly what I'm talking about."

"It's nonsense."

"Just what do you find so nonsensical about it?"

"You wouldn't understand," she mumbled.

"I daresay I might!"

He was suddenly overwhelmed with a strong urge to kiss her stubborn mouth.

"You don't have enough faith? You find me so ignorant?"

She twisted her head and sighed impatiently, like he'd seen her do many a time. However, this was the first time he'd ever seen her direct this look at him.

He opened his mouth, ready to add some comment in his own defence, just as the group in the kitchen once again started their boisterous chorus.

They both snorted at the same time at their fellow worker's off key efforts.

She gave him a small resigned smile and he remembered how handsome she was.

He encouraged her to dance once more.

"When the good young man in haste will support me round the waist," he crooned softly near her ear. They were the correct lyrics but he'd slowed down the melody.

He paused, stifling his utter glee and amazement, when she leant her head to comfortably nestle against his chest.

"We now know you can dance and sing, Mr Carson. What other hidden talents do you have?"

He pressed her closer still until he felt her soft curves. Perhaps handsome wasn't the correct word? When she smiled she was actually quite comely.

"I don't come to while thus embraced," he sung on, "til of my lips he steals a taste."

They weren't really waltzing any longer. It was more a slow sway. But she was still in his arms and he was enjoying that sensation more than he could have imagined.

"Are those really the words?" she asked.

"Yes."

"I'm afraid I only know the chorus. And that's not very difficult to learn."

She pulled back, her gaze searching his face. He was torn. He wanted her to stay where she was, on his chest, close to his heart, but he also wanted to read the emotions chasing across her face.

"You have a lovely voice, Mr Carson."

Lovely, she'd said. That was a better word than comely. She really was lovely.

"I don't come to while thus embraced," he sang again. He had no idea where William was up to on the song, or if William had started a new song, or if William was now answering the front door for that matter. His attention was now centred entirely on Elsie Hughes and just how beautiful she looked at this moment.

Then, that same beautiful Elsie Hughes shocked him. She opened her mouth, and in a fine mezzo-soprano voice sang, "Til of my lips he steals a taste."

He grinned down at her, and then, slowly, yet very deliberately, bent his head and brushed his lips across hers.

"Raspberry jam," he rasped. "They taste of raspberry jam."

"If you dare tell Mrs Patmore her soufflé tastes like jam…"

He bent his head again and shushed her with another kiss. This time, it was more than a mere taste. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, enjoying the contrast of her feminine curves pressed against his hard body.

Her lips were soft beneath his. The blood pumped around his body faster as she stood pliant in his arms, letting him explore her mouth-her slightly fuller bottom lip, the edges where her mouth curled up into a smile, the top where it dipped and creased.

He began to ache all over when her lips parted slightly and he could feel those almost-perfect teeth of hers beneath his tongue. He dared probe even more, the heat of her mouth enslaving him. He groaned out loud when he felt her tongue briefly graze against his.

She immediately gasped and tilted her head back, closing her eyes.

He took the opportunity to taste the skin of her neck.

"Why are all your collars so high, Elsie?" he teased.

Suddenly her palms were pushing against his chest and she was stumbling backwards out of his embrace.

He shook his head, steadying his uncouth thoughts to just seize her again and ravish her until she was compliant.

He found the strength to look over at her calmly. Her shoulders were hunched, her eyes still shut. She clutched her shaking hands together.

"Elsie?"

She let out a loud sob. He approached her slowly and squeezed her shoulders.

"You called me Elsie," she whispered.

"That is your name, is it not?" he dared tease again.

"I didn't think…"

"What?" he asked, confused at why he had elicited such a response simply from murmuring her given name.

"I think," she said, brushing off his hands and straightening her back until she stood tall and proud again, "you should not call me that again. I think you should only address me as Mrs Hughes."

"You can call me Charles," he offered, willing her to smile.

She remained impassive, however.

He arched his thick eyebrows. "Charlie?" he suggested with mirth.

"I think I must bid you goodnight, _Mr Carson_."

He caught her hand before she could open his door. He couldn't let her go like this. He rubbed his thumb across her palm, contemplating his parting words.

"I shall always address you as Mrs Hughes in our professional dealings," he assured her.

His thumb ran over a raised lump and she flinched. He lifted her hand and studied the small blister before leaning down to place his lips to the swollen sore.

"Don't…"

"However, I insist," he said, ignoring her resistance and continuing to kiss along her wrist, "on calling you Elsie during our in between times."

"We can't have in between times."

"What do you call tonight then, Elsie?"

"This is…"

"Yes?" he taunted.

She angrily tugged her hand free completely and wrenched open the door.

"Goodnight, Mr Carson."

"Sweet dreams, Elsie."

He walked to the door and watched her until she disappeared.

He should be ashamed of himself and his boorish behaviour towards her, but he wasn't.

He was, he knew, going to woo Elsie Hughes until…

Until when? Until what?

He smiled devilishly. Until she called him Charles, of course.


End file.
